2005-07-31 - 12:15 p.m.

i think it's time we collectively sigh and say, just *what* is she doing?

i feel like i'm teetering off my rocker. whiskey nudging me.

i feel slightly hazzy in fact.

thank you jumbly for your play by play. i'm not certain if we had a drink down, who would be left standing, but lets just say last night i stood until 5a.m.

thank you vla for your honesty. becuz i'm also scared to write about this part of the truth chewing away within me.

i'm embarrassed of myself last night. i just feel as if it can slot itself into funny inebriated behavior, to a point. i'm not going to make any sense. warning you now.

let's rewind. RR. thursday night. went out. inebriated. somewhat uneventful. nearly a waste of a night. friday night. went to injest tuna melts with electro. stayed over. did a skosh of late night work. two drinks. barely feeling the tickle. sat fucked off every mention of work because the time of the day just kept creeping forward without me. electro and i went apartment shopping in my stilletos. treaking back neighborhoods, up dirt hills. the one karmic place was adorable. but very fucking small. it would be a downgrade from what i have. there's another to look at from him. then on my way home i met a friend to vintage shop. bought neet things. then she said almost jokingly she can't go out with me unless she does my hair. thank god she did. it was falling into a nice orangish hue. then i pick us up food and out we go. we buy whiskey and fill my enormous enviro-friendly refillable water jug the size of jezuz with jack and coke. we trapze a downtown loft party imbibing. it was slightly borring to me. a party with a new twist that i've attended too many times. then somehow we're mtg smarty at swingers for food and she pours out half of our coke and tops off each of our glasses with whiskey. she's the devil. at this i comment that she's one of the few women that can keep up with me. at this point i'm feeling that rebellious sense of wanting to drink. then i threaten to drive home, i'm finefinefine...she makes me at the very least hide the booze in the trunk in case. which irritated me slightly, but it was a wise choice. got home drank a bit more. put my typical water out for me middle of the night pill moment. my cat knocks over the water with his paw. i *hate* this. he has his water. three of them. why does he need to tamper with mine. so in a stupor i throw the glass. not at the cat, but at the floor. they are heavy glasses, usually they just roll. this one broken. then i'm vacumming up the shards of my shame. my dabblings with temper.

illusive and explosive.

drunken.

i go in the other room. the cats are crouching. hiding.

vla. i'm feeling very human. and very irritated with the edges that have become so loose in me.

what i do at night is hide my evidence so i feel less guilty in the morning. so i can forget easier. bottles gone, jug rinsed.

i don't want any of you to whisper a word of caution with me. it won't wear well on me. i'm just going to have to be stronger than this. this morning i felt that sense of organizing myself. making a committment. at night i always feel a happy sense of abandon. a sense of giving myself away. throwing life down. farther. farther. i always thoroughly enjoy it in the moment. the next day rarely cautioning me out of the throw down.

and here i am. 1pm. tired. behind. having done no work. feeling the acute pressure of work i have to do today. feeling remorse for doing what i said i needed to cut down on. liquor sogging the hours i should be productive.

here's a very dorky thought i had in the bathroom this morning.

two two and two.

i need to write two pages a day, even if it's crap. only two drinks ever. both of these for two weeks to start. and i know there will be that one night where i don't care about 2 2 & 2 and i make it the great exception, cuz the ramp up on the night is too fun and i get lost.

electro seemed dangerously comfortable. rhythmic with me. i'm playing a complicated game. a game inspired by anais. safety by diffusion.

so now what. i feel like i'm supposed to be punished. i feel like i'm wrong. like i owe myself a good bout of depression over my mis-stepping. my boundaryless living.

vla, do you feel that way after? like it's a way to punch yourself down? a sneeky little gaurentee? it's my secret seductive way to pull the lifting with in down. i like it. i crave it. i crave the destruction. the cool feeling of the ground on the skin of my face. it's my way to make sure i don't change too much.

i'm deathly afraid of the borredum of normalicy. if i just keep throwing myself off enough, i'll never have to deal with the ?? with what?

in therapy this week she planted that seed of aaahh haaa. i get it. what i do is create a adrenile drama to feel quite alive. to feel the way i've always felt. it was only through an all night fight with the family that we all finally coagulated. relaxed. settle in to our love. intensity. more specifically i developed craving. yearning for what was denied. attention from my mom. thirsting. she gave it all to my brother, in front of me. where i got denied. if i just could be better, enough. more talented? bigger? then i craved the protection and love from dad. come home. where are you? craving.

so i'm only comfortable in my skin with a man that i'm in a state of craving. never arrival. only threats of disappearance. the constant hanging sensation of about to be gone. that's what i felt so addictively with that last one. it's what i felt with the first love of my life when my life was turned upside down when he left for school. an unexplainable yearning. holding his shirts at night to get a sense of his skin. crying to music, waiting for calls. talking with a thirst for each word, trying to hold on desperately to the moment that i knew would soon fade. time spent like a capsule. everything exhisted only in the times he was there, everything else was the waiting in between. he was everything, the first person that showed me importance. so then every single one after that was a paleing repetition. now it's slimmed to the point of a needle. each time so exactly the same. sometimes i don't know if it's even real or created from my own strict illusion. he can't fall from those confines. nothing else exhists to me but the safety of rejection and the craving for a drop of what might leave. i can't sit with someone who offers me everything. i'm terrified of it. that life will end there. borrdem will set it. i won't know what to do with someone who arrives. i always wonder, why are they here. what the fuck is wrong with them?

i'm safe with my friends who i know love me but don't threaten to stay. i've worked hard to find people with intricate reasons of incapability.

perpetuation of the same.

i need to see something else to believe that it can happen. i talked to electro all about this. he's exactly the same. always with a woman living with her ex. always seeking, never finding.

do you think i'll surface?

do you think i'll birth from this?

we will see the words someday where i'm okay with someone in my space. day after day. rhythm. pace. i feel like my spirit would die with such realiability. that i would be so borred and i would start tearing apart who i love just to feel the kick.

so fuck it. here's to being human. heres to the elegance of bearing who we are and letting the water spill and the glass break and the hatred errupt and the aftermath tempt to tarnish away at feeling okay. here's to communally accepting exactly where we are, as fallably as we fall.